If Only
by AnotherConstellationDies.x
Summary: Sometimes, you dream nice things. And you enjoy these dreams. But then there are the nightmares. And they come far too often. Companion to Sweetest Downfall. One shot.


**I'm back! So i was prompted to write this by a lovely anonymous review, i wish whoever it was was signed in so i could reply and thank them. Anyway, i digress. this is a companion to Sweetest Downfall, but i doubt it will be as good. **

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**You've got so much to do. The amount of work never decreases; the in-tray always has something in it. Sometimes, you wonder if any of it is worth it, signing pointless paperwork that, in all fairness, would be the same without your signature on the bottom.

You wonder, and yet you can do nothing about it, because you are their servant, in the end, they rule you, and you do as they say. That's how it works.

So, you are forced to read things and sign things and feign interest, always ever aware of the sun's slow descent to the horizon. The room is getting darker, the candles throwing shadows around, across the papers on the desk, across your face.

You are tired, your eyelids feel heavy, and suddenly it takes a lot of energy to keep them open. You watch, as if detached from yourself, as your hand moves across the page, writing things that you couldn't care less about. Your pen is running out of ink, and here and there the writing grows faint, and eventually the ink has gone, leaving only indentations in the paper.

Annoyed, you snap the pen in your hand without meaning to. Shards of plastic go everywhere. One cuts into your hand, leaving a tiny scratch, and a bead of blood, shining in the warm light provided by the candle on the desk. You don't really need the candle, a rather magnificent chandelier is strung up on the ceiling, complete with electric lights, but you like the warmth, the yellow and orange light. You like how the flame flickers and dances when you breathe out near it.

Eventually, you're sick of work, and you're sick of your constant yawning. You blow out the candle with an irritated huff of breath, and suddenly the room is bathed in darkness. Light still filters through the windows, and for a moment you are caught off guard by the sky, and how pale and delicate it has become. You've never noticed it like this before. It really is something quite extraordinary.

Shortly you find yourself in bed, your clothes strewn rather carelessly across the back of a chair, but for once you can't bring yourself to care. It's only the scarf that is unsettling you. It's fallen from the chair and is now on the ground, almost reaching towards you. You stare at it for a good few minutes, because in the light of the sunset it is as pale as your own skin, and you feel like it is a part of you, this scarf that was made for you so long ago, you feel like you are not complete without it, and you feel like it does not deserve to be laid on the floor so thoughtlessly.

You get up to move, but you are suddenly extremely aware of how comfortable the mattress is, how soft the sheets are, how your mind has gone fuzzy and you are having trouble keeping your eyes open. With a not entirely happy sigh, you flop back down onto the pillows, the words _just for tonight_ resounding through your mind.

Your eyes fall shut, and you can feel your breathing slowing down. You wonder if your heart has slowed down as well, and you place a hand on your heart to feel the regular beating. It is unhurried, and regular, and you like the feel of it beneath your hand. Your other hand falls where it pleases, reaching out to the empty space beside you.

Suddenly the bed seems vast, a wide empty space only for you to inhabit. Secretly, you had hoped that _he _would be there, curled up against you, a delicious warmth radiating from his soft, fragile skin, that on more than one occasion you have bruised or cut, if only to see his reactions. You hoped he would be there, but he is not, and it is unlikely he ever will be, by his own freewill, at least. You idly ponder forcing him to be here, but really, you know it isn't the same. How would you feel happy if he was trembling against you for the whole night?

Sometimes, you wonder what he is so afraid of. You love him, completely and undoubtedly. You've told him often enough, so why can't he believe you? Those times when you...did what you did, it was only out of the sheer need to impress upon him how much you care for him. You are constantly terrified that he will leave; you need to find a way to show to him how much you care.

You'd like him to be with you right now. If he was, you'd hold him close; whisper things in his ear that would make him love you. You'd do so much to make him love you.

But, you can't deny, it all seems unlikely. He's terrified of you, they all are.

You sigh, the noise seeming very loud in a quiet room, and slowly you drift off into sleep, ever aware of the empty space beside you.

You don't dream often. You don't like to. Of course, dreams are nice, but with dreams come nightmares and you cannot bear to think about those.

Sometimes, you have nice dreams. You dream about your sisters. You dream about sunflowers, whole fields of them, stretching further than the horizon. Sometimes you dream about a beach, where white sand meets blue green sea and the warm breeze ruffles your hair, caressing your skin. You are always so cold. You dream of warmth, but you know that it is always just out of reach.

And sometimes, when you are particularly happy, you dream of him. You dream of situations where he isn't afraid, and he'll gladly take your hand, and he'll laugh and smile and those green eyes will shine like stars.

You even dream of the others, the small one and the taller one, neither of them afraid, all of them laughing. You are all one big family, happy together.

You've never had a family like that. You've never been happy together. There was always something wrong.

Sometimes, you dream nice things. And you enjoy these dreams. You like the colours and the sights and the hand that _he _slips into yours. You like it.

But then there are the nightmares. And they come far too often.

The one you hate the most, it torments your mind, and you're sure it's driving you to insanity. The nightmare visits you constantly, the image of five, childish, beautiful faces, each one scared, each one bloodied. And you are standing with a gun in your hands, watching them fall. Making them fall. Their parents are the ones you hate. He has done so much to hurt you. She is an outsider; she knows she's better than you. Why he married her is beyond you. The parents are the ones you want to see suffer. But the children, four girls and a boy, so innocent and full of hope, they deserve so much more than you can ever give them. And what do you do? You shoot them down, in a basement in a house in the middle of Siberia.

You've woken up crying before. Because you miss them, and they loved you, and the youngest was just thirteen.

There are other nightmares, too, but they aren't as bad as that one. You try to forget them when they come; you run a shaking hand over your face, willing your mind to push the memories of them away.

These sights haunt you, they always return, no matter how much you cry and beg them to go away.

But you deserve it. After all, it's your fault, entirely. You caused them, so it is fitting that you should be made to watch them again and again, so you can never forget your sins.

Some nights, you dream, and others, the nightmares visit you, but on this night, the one with the beautiful sunset, you do not dream. You sleep, you exhaustion enveloping any developing images in your mind.

In some ways, it's a shame, because you dearly love to dream, to see things you would never see otherwise.

But in some ways, it is a blessing, an escape from those images you work so hard to ignore.

You are hardly aware of the sound at first. It sounds like a door opening, the sound invading your mind, and suddenly a story is being spun behind your eyelids.

The bedroom door opens, and _he _is there. He's stood there, uncertain, rather afraid, but you watch him to see what he does.

This is a strange dream, you quickly decide. He's standing, unmoving, staring at you with those beautiful green eyes. You've waited for the day when he would willingly come to your room. You've dreamt about it. And now, he's here.

Everything around you seems hazy, and you're vaguely aware that this is just a dream.

Still.

Him standing there, watching you sleep, it's a rather nice dream.

If only it could be real.

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**(cheesy ending is cheesy)**

**Review and tell me what you think? Please?**

**~~Allie x  
**


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